


Wishes Are Children

by wordsofabookworm



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Bruce Wayne Has Issues, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Feelings, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Bruce Wayne is a witch, Child Abuse, Damian Wayne Feels, Dick Grayson Gets a Hug, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Good Sibling Damian Wayne, Good Sibling Dick Grayson, Good Sibling Jason Todd, Good Sibling Tim Drake, Hurt Tim Drake, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Inspired by Into the Woods, Into the Woods AU, Jason Todd Deserves Better, Jason Todd Has Issues, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Protective Bruce Wayne, Stephanie Brown is amazing, Suicidal Thoughts but its only in one chapter, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Urban Fantasy, Willis Todd is an awful person, Wishes are Children, Witch!Bruce, mute!Cassandra, parents die?, people die, some gore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-12 06:54:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29380956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsofabookworm/pseuds/wordsofabookworm
Summary: What he wanted more than anything in the world...
Comments: 17
Kudos: 58





	1. I Wish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is a witch regardless of gender because I said so lol. I think witch has different connotations than wizard and I don't want wizardly connotations lol.

Gotham had long been revered as the city of witches. Its inhabitants knew there were witches among them. The most prominent was the Wayne family- or rather the sole surviving Wayne. 

Bruce Wayne was a funny witch. He was old money. Old money usually dealt with only money. The families with stronger magic could get you more but their price was higher. There were hundreds of firms, offering you wishes and good luck for money. Some would trade for favors. Bruce Wayne had what was thought to be the most powerful magic in all of Gotham. Bruce Wayne didn’t trade at all. 

“Magic? Balance?” Brucie laughed at an interview with Vickie Vale, “Of course not! That's so much work and terribly old school. Besides, I get favors all the time without trading.” And he winked at the camera and Vickie Vale who blushed. 

There were rumors. Rumors that Bruce Wayne did trade. That he traded for goods that could only be obtained through the powerful magic that flowed through his whole bloodline. Rumors that he traded for people and souls. The sort of deals that only the truly desperate or despicable could bear to make. 

Because what Bruce Wayne wanted more than anything in the world was a family.


	2. I Wish to Go to the Festival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Now, Master Bruce,” Alfred replied reproachfully, “This is your first proper outing for yourself that you’ve had since you returned. I must insist you look the part.”  
> A wry smile escaped the old Butler, “I know this is only about the magical disturbance you sensed but do try to have fun if you can manage it. It is a circus afterall.”

“I’ll be fine, Alfred,” Bruce answered brusquely, his voice contrasting with the gentle way he removed the old, weathered hands from his jacket. He double-checked his pocket for the pearls.

“Now, Master Bruce,” Alfred replied reproachfully, “This is your first proper outing for yourself that you’ve had since you returned. I must insist you look the part.”  
A wry smile escaped the old Butler, “I know this is only about the magical disturbance you sensed but do try to have fun if you can manage it. It is a circus afterall.”

Bruce nodded good naturedly before heading out the door and stepping into the waiting cab. The drive was calm and quiet. It made the boisterous noise of the circus all the louder. Bruce tipped the driver and made his way through the bustling crowd. Everywhere he turned there were bright lights and colors. He sidestepped out of the way of a clown on stilts and ducked past many vendors offering him popcorn and cotton candy. He had a mission. 

Someone had made a deal. Someone had traded something important. His equipment had caught it. Someone was trading lives. He didn’t know who or for what but he was going to stop them. 

He made his way to the largest tent, where the shows were going to take place, and scanned the crowd for the man in charge of all of this. Mr. Haly wasn’t difficult to find, his tall hat and announcer voice made him recognizable even from where Bruce was standing. He walked quickly to the man.

“Pardon me,” he said coolly, “I hate to interrupt but I’d like to have a word with you.”

Haly turned away from the child he was speaking to in surprise.

“There is a line, sir,” he smiled tensely.

“Is there a line for Bruce Wayne?” Bruce asked charmingly.

There was a calculated look in Haly’s eyes. One that confirmed Bruce’s suspicions. This was the man who had made the deal.

“Of course,” Haly nodded, standing up straight and handing the child a lollipop. He made a shooing motion to the line, “Folks, if you direct your attention to the line by the blue flag you’ll see the Flying Graysons have joined us. Please make a line if you’d like to get any pictures.” 

For a moment, Bruce was distracted. The kid who'd been next in line looked familiar. 

He caught himself. He had to stay focused. 

“Mr. Haly,” he smiled all teeth, “I just wanted to ask you about this fine establishment.”

Mr. Haly nodded and began to spew nonsense about the finances and the tent fabrics. Bruce nodded amiably and let him drone on until he glanced at his watch. The show would be starting soon.

“I’d like to make a business deal with you,” Bruce offered, inwardly glaring at the sparkle of greed in the other man’s eyes, “Perhaps we could discuss it before the show.”

“I’d have to get in touch with my other benefactors,” Haly grinned, “How about after the show? That way you have to think about what you want. We have plenty of wonderful things to offer in return.”

Bruce hid a grimace, he certainly hoped Haly wasn’t referring to his performers but he had a feeling his hopes would be dashed. It would certainly explain how the man got his entire circus across continents. None of Bruce’s research had been able to account for the sudden funds that had appeared in the circus’ pocket. 

“Of course,” he flashed Haly his best paparazzi smile, “After the show then.”

Haly gave him an exaggerated bow before stopping, something like concern on his face. Bruce followed his gaze. There were several rough looking men glaring in Haly’s direction. Without another word the circus owner scuttled away. 

Bruce watched for a moment. Haly seemed agitated. Perhaps these were his other benefactors. Bruce resolved to end this after the show. Even if he had to buy the circus out of Haly and his benefactors' hands. 

Of course he was too late. He had been too late to save his own mother and father, why should he have been on time to save that poor child’s parents? The world seemed to slow down. Bruce’s eyes focused on the rope snapping and then they were on the ground and there was a little boy in the sky screaming. 

Bruce snapped back to himself and sprinted to the scene. The little boy was still at the top of the set, sobbing. Steadying himself, Bruce stepped around the bodies, a shiver running down his spine when he heard a strange squelch under his foot. The boy’s family was splattered on the ground but Bruce couldn’t look because he had to get the little boy down. One hand on the ladder rung, followed by the other. He would make it. The boy seemed unable to tear his eyes away from the scene. His screams like a banshee, were unending. Another rung of the ladder was behind Bruce. Then another and another. He should’ve guessed. Haly must not have paid his benefactors. He must have bargained the lives of his best performers. Or maybe their performance. If only Bruce had forced him to meet before the show. He could’ve saved this little boy’s family. He could have kept their brains in their heads. He reached the top.

“Chum?” he asked cautiously, trying to mirror the way Alfred had handled him after the accident, “Can you come away from the ledge?”

The boy whirled around. Feathery black hair framed his small round face, large blue eyes stared back at Bruce. His own pain reflected back at him in this tiny child’s eyes. He opened his arms and the boy threw himself into his embrace.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, knowing platitudes were pointless, he rubbed the child’s back, “I’m so sorry.”

“My mom,” the little boy sobbed, “my dad.”

“I know,” Bruce murmured, “I know.”

He stayed there until Dick’s screams became sobs and his sobs became hiccups. Then he pulled the boy into a fireman’s carry and made his way back down the ladder. 

Someone had had the good sense to cover the bodies. Haly was talking to the police. When he saw Bruce he hurried toward him.

“Terribly sorry the performance was ruined,” the man said nervously wringing his hands, “I hope it doesn’t turn you off our business venture-”

“The boy,” Bruce interrupted.

Haly stared at him wide eyed. 

“I’ll pay for your lawyer if you trade me the boy. Make no mistake. Your circus will be shut down but I can keep you out of prison.”

He could feel Dick shivering against his chest.

Haly glared, “If you think I’d be willing to sell out- this circus is like my family. Why the boy is practically-”

“Do we have a deal, Jack?” Bruce reiterated firmly. At the use of his first name, Haly stopped. He knew how dangerous a name could be, especially in the hands of one as powerful as a Wayne. 

Begrudgingly, Haly stuck out his hand. Bruce shook it and felt the tiny spark of magic seal their contract. 

“I agree to your terms,” Haly glowered.

“It's been a pleasure doing business with you,” Bruce replied walking away, “You can expect a call from the lawyer tomorrow.” 

There was a little boy, shaking in his arms. He hadn’t said a word since he’d spoken of his parents but Brcue wasn't too concerned. He hadn’t spoken for months after-

He pulled the boy closer and to his surprise the boy clung back just as desperately.

“Which trailer is yours?” he asked softly, “Lets get your things.”

The boy pointed and without words, Bruce meandered around the circus grounds until they reached a beautiful, wooden, red trailer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we go lol


	3. The Poor Boy’s Parents Had Died

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People would laugh at you  
> Nevertheless, I still want to go to the Festival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we gooOOOOoo

There was a hand.

It reached for him. 

Dick Grayson had parents. Dick Grayson had parents. Past Tense. Technically, Dick’s parents were still there. He could see the pieces of them on the ground below him. His father’s face flattened by the impact, the explosion of blood and pink coming from the back of his head. His mother’s neck at an angle not even the Grayson flexibility could boast of. In the back of his mind, Dick recalled how people often told him the way he bent made him look like he was boneless. He wished his parents were boneless. Then he wouldn’t have to see the sharp white bone sticking out of his mother’s thigh. He wouldn’t have to see the blood oozing out of them. 

A thought came to him. All he had to do was take one step.

If Dick Grayson took one step forward he could be with his mom and his dad. They could be together the way they always should be. Dick Grayson would have parents. Present tense. 

A deep baritone voice pulled him out of his head. His throat hurt like he’d been screaming. A distant part of him made him realize he probably had been. Dick struggled to focus. The words of the man were just outside of his world. He could see his mouth moving. Then the large man opened his arms. Dick couldn’t help himself. He threw himself into the man’s arms and sobbed. THe man held him and eventually Dick could feel his body going down. Idly, he wondered if they were falling. There were voices and then the baritone was back.

“Which trailer is yours?” the voice rumbled, vibrating the chest Dick was leaning against. “Lets get your things.”

Dick raised his head slightly, he opened his mouth but all that came out was a shaky breath. He pointed towards the trailer parking. After some maneuvering, Dick’s home came into view. The red trailer that used to make him think of family, and fun, and hugs now blaringly reminded him of the puddles of blood surrounding his parents’ bodies. Wordlessly, he tapped on the big man’s shoulder. After a moment’s hesitation, the man set him down. For a moment, Dick wondered if his legs would hold him. He went to the trailer and reached behind the little panel that had the spare key. He unlocked the door and stepped in. The man made no motion to follow.

The trailer was exactly as he had left it. It was waiting for his parents to come home. His mother’s favorite scarf, his father’s hairbrush, all the items they would’ve used were scattered about. Dick walked over to their little table and picked up the cookie that would have been his after show snack. It crumbled in his mouth. What was usually sweet tasted like the sawdust in the animal pens. Dick coughed but forced it down. His mom had taken it out for him. He had to eat it. If he waited long enough he was sure she’d bustle in and pour him a glass of milk. 

Swallowing reflexively, Dick picked up his backpack and started going through their things. He grabbed his mom’s favorite scarf and his father’s hairbrush and stuffed them into the bag. He carefully unpinned all of the photos from the board on the wall and placed them in the family album. That went into his bag too. His favorite action figures, his stuffed elephant Zitka, his mother’s brooch, his father’s cologne, his favorite socks, his favorite little spoon, his mom’s charms, his father’s potion book, other books, the family book, his mother’s special box, the rest of the cookies, the blanket the Lion Tamer had gifted him. Everything that he could possibly stuff into his bag found a place. He took a moment to be grateful for the charm his mother had placed on his little bag. It was bottomless. After some deliberation, he grabbed his father’s good shoes in case they fit him one day. Then he surveyed the trailer. 

It no longer looked like his home and although it made his heart ache something in him felt a little bit better. No one would poke around their things and find out secrets or make fun of the color of his mom’s lipsticks or his dad’s ties. Everything that he deemed important was with him. 

“This Mary Poppins,” his mother smiled, placing a soft kiss on his cheek, “she has nothing on me, little robin. You want a bag like hers? I’ll make it.”

He remembers the gleam in her eye as she’d sewed the little satchel together. He holds it a little closer.

When he leaves the trailer, the man is still waiting outside exactly where he had left him. A part of Dick had expected him to disappear. 

“Who are you?” he asked, frowning when his voice came out as little more than a croak. 

The man seemed startled. 

“My name is Bruce,” he offered, “Bruce Wayne.”

Dick’s eyes widened. The name had practically been a gift. This stupid man must not know how much power names had. 

“My name is Dick,” he replied at Bruce’s asking glance. The man chuckled and gave him a knowing look. Perhaps he did know the importance of being given a name. 

“Well, Dick,” Bruce’s smile faded, in its place was something like pity or sympathy. Dick couldn’t tell which. All he knew was that he hated that look. “I’m going to take care of you now.”

Dick glared in reply but it didn't phase the man.

“I made a deal with your boss, Haly.”

“Uncle Haly?” Dick asked shakily, “Why would he- he can just take care of me himself!”

The look in Bruce’s eyes was definitely pity.

“No,” the man said firmly, “he can’t.”

He spoke with such certainty that Dick believed him. Besides if they had made a deal then Dick couldn’t risk being the reason Uncle Haly broke it. Everyone knew bad things happened when you broke a deal. He grabbed the man’s hand and let himself be led to the side of the road. He stepped into the cab when the man nudged his back. He didn’t know where he was going but if he couldn’t stay at the circus then perhaps this man, with magic in his eyes could help him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick little birds, pick through the ashes. Pick and peck but swiftly sift through the ashes.


	4. I Wish the Walls Were Full of Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wish a lot of things.
> 
> What can you trade for gold?

“I gave your mother the good stuff,” he leered at the boy, “And she gave me you. You know what that makes you? Mine.”

The last word was breathed out low and directly in Jason’s face. He winced at the distinct stink of beer. Willis chuckled and harshly cupped his chin. 

“You know, son, if this deal doesn’t pull through I might have to put you up. After All, your mother needs her fix.” 

“No sir,” Jason mumbled, bracing himself. The sharp clap of Willis’ broad, calloused hand against Jason’s cheek seemed to echo in the room. The left side of his face stung. He did not cry. 

“Now get out of my sight before I decide I want some pocket money,” Willis growled, taking another swig of his drink. 

Jason scrambled away, heading to his room. It was a tiny closet of a space but it had a window. Jason propped the old chair he’d found on bulk day underneath the handle to keep Willis from entering. He shivered. Climbing onto his bed, he pulled the covers around himself. He knew what happened to kids who got traded. He’d seen them on the street corners. He had friends who’d been sold off to pimps. Friends who were bound by magic. At least here he was safe from that life. Willis only roughed him up and his mother never hit him on purpose - only when she was really out of it sometimes. Those times she barely knew her own name, let alone recognized Jason. When she slapped him then it didn’t count.

Jason pulled the blankets tighter around himself and moved to the far corner of his bed. From this angle he could both look out his window and keep an eye on the door. He imagined what life would be like once he was old enough to leave. For a moment, he pretended he had a future. He envisioned going to college and leaving Gotham for a city with less magic. He fell asleep with his back still against the wall.

The next morning he went to school with a brilliant shiner. Half his face swollen from his father’s early morning tantrum. All the teachers averted their eyes. Snitches belong to witches was the general rule. He didn’t blame them. He’d keep his head down too. He had before. Even if someone reported Willis to CPS he’d end up in the system which was as good as being traded anyway. 

After school, he went to the library to do homework. He settled in the lonliest corner of the archives and opened the Horse and His Boy. Just as things started getting interesting he was interrupted by someone clearing their throat. Shoulders tense, his head snapped up. 

“Peter?” his favorite librarian asked. She had rolled in quietly. Distantly, Jason wondered how she could be so quiet in a wheelchair.

“Ms. Gordon,” he grinned. For a moment, he was able to forget his aching face.

Ms. Gordon did not return his smile. She pressed her lips together and studied him. Her eyes focused on his bruised face. The pain came pulsing back and was only dimmed by the flare of shame that burned his ears. He didn’t usually show up to the library on bad days but he really needed to find a copy of the book for school.

“Babs?”

Both Ms. Gordon and Jason turned to the newcomer, Jason with a frown and Ms. Gordon with a soft smile. 

“Dick,” she greeted. 

Jason reeled back. 

“I didn’t know librarians could curse!” he exclaimed with wide eyes.

The dick and Ms. Gordon both laughed.

“Peter,” Gordon pat his head, “of course we can but I didn’t. That’s his name. Dick meet Peter. Peter, this is Dick.”

Jason glared. Ms. Gordon always made sure he knew he was short. He was pretty sure she was just teasing him but he didn't like it when she touched his head. 

‘Nice to meet you, Peter,” Dick stuck out his hand for a handshake. Jason turned his glare to the older boy. There was no way he was shaking hands with a stranger. Especially one who was called Dick. Dick withdrew his hand after Ms. Gordon elbowed him. “Sorry,” he flashed his teeth, “I always forget how important handshakes are in Gotham.”

Jason didn’t trust outsiders. No sane Gothamite would. There was a calculating look in Dick’s eyes that made him nervous. He definitely knew what handshakes meant. Only a baby wouldn’t. Abruptly, Jason shoved his homework into his beat up backpack and picked up the book. 

“I’m gonna check this out,” he muttered, before hurrying to the front desk. Behind him he could hear Ms. Gordon talking to the dick.

“Why’d you try to spell him?”

Jason quickened his pace. The nervous feeling Dick had given him didn’t leave until he was a ways away from the library. He slowed his pace so he could enjoy his last few minutes of peace. The hour walk never seemed long enough. By the time he reached his block the sun was setting. The apartment was filled with the usual cacophony of his parents arguing. His mom’s half sobs and his father’s yelling greeted him before he even opened the door.

“Woman, we can't afford rent because you can't handle a little withdrawal!”

“It's your fault I’m like this! If you hadn’t made me have him I would’ve been fine! I was getting better I-”

The door shut behind him, and two pairs of eyes focused on him. A bitter part of Jason wished they’d just continue going at it instead of turning on him. His father was on him before he could even put down his backpack. As Jason was pummelled into the floor he idly wondered what had set them off this time. Was it really bills or had his mother decided to try and slip some cash from Willis’ wallet? 

Eventually, the beating grew too much for Catherine to bear. She threw herself at Willis. Jason watched them from his place on the floor. His mother peeled him off the dirty carpet and brought him to his room. She cradled his head and whispered apologies into his hair.

“My sweet, sweet boy,” she murmured, “I’m so sorry you had to- it's not your fault. Okay?” She pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. Jason blinked, trying to take a picture in his mind so he could remember her this way the next time she was high. 

“Okay, mom,” he mumbled back, letting his eyes fall closed. 

A door opening jolted him out of his slumber. His body protested as he shot up. It was far too late for even his father to be leaving the house. For a moment, Jason was paralyzed with fear. If someone had come to rob them they couldn't find much but his dad would be mad and-

Carefully, still keeping the blanket wrapped around himself, he slipped off the bed and crouched by the door. He placed one ear to the old wooden panel and listened for voices.

“That’s a generous offer, but you can't’ really expect me to give up my son? My own flesh and blood?”

Jason froze. That was his dad’s voice. 

“Everyone has their price,” a muffled voice replied, “What’s yours?”

Jason sat back in disbelief. His father wouldn’t really... he cut off his train of thought. Willis most certainly would trade him for the right price. Jason’s only hope was that the stranger wouldn’t be able to offer enough.

“They say a child is the most precious gift,” his father argued.

The stranger chortled dryly, “They also say thou shalt not lie. We both know you don’t care either way.”

“Ten grand and you pay for my record to be wiped clean.”

“I’ll get your record wiped,” the man bartered with a grunt.

“Twenty grand?”

Jason pulled his head away from the door. He knew how the rest would go. They’d argue for a bit and end up agreeing on something in between. Quiet as a mouse Jason stuffed all his belongings in his ratty little backpack. As an afterthought, he grabbed his tire iron. In a pinch it would make a passable defense and more importantly he might be able to use it to make cash. Afterall why escape being whored out just to whore himself out? He needed another way to make money for food.

With one last glance at the door, he climbed out his little window onto the building ledge. He sent a thank you to the powers that be for making higher floors more expensive. His family’s apartment was only on the second floor. With some maneuvering, he managed to get to the ground. Turning around, Jason gaped at the sight before him.

Whoever was upstairs trading for him had driven his actual car into Crime Alley. He hadn’t even bothered to take a taxi. Jason flexed his grip on the tire iron. Staying by his home was a terrible idea but they’d only just started bargaining. He had time to steal a tire or two. Setting his bag down at his feet, Jason got to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so... here we are lol. I'm sure you can guess what's coming.


End file.
